Rivals
by papyrusrex
Summary: The reserve keeper would be playing again. Evans. Had a nice stat, but only one full match. James didn't have much to worry about. Reserves rarely did well when they jumped mid-season and Evans began in the post-season. The fans might love her, but it was all beginner's luck. It'd probably break with the pressure of the semifinals. ··· AU ··· M for language, mostly.


**A/N: So... Hello, there. I hope you enjoy this story. I've got it all plotted out, I suppose all that's remaining is to write it. (Ten chapters, if anyone wants to know, 99% sure.) I will take a break after chapter two because, well, summer, but it will resume around August. But don't blame me. Blame James and Lily. Such lovable idiots.**

**As always, everything you recognize from the Harry Potter books belongs to J.K. Rowling. **

* * *

_Beep._

_Beepbeepbeep._

_Beeep._

He groaned against his pillow. Maybe he should just snooze the alarm and just get forget about showering before the match.

Shit. The match.

He groaned, covering his face with a hand.

James untangled himself from the sheets, being careful not to step over the neighboring bodies. He tripped with a stray shoe, but eventually managed to stop the alarm clock.

Remus groaned.

"Go back to sleep, Moony."

He got another groan in return, but he knew there was no danger of him waking up. He always slept through most of the day and Peter slept too heavily for his own good.

He cursed at Peter's sleeping body, for leaving his stuff thrown around the room. Maybe he should've lied and said that, yes, he was thinking of the number five when he'd said so. Sirius would've slept in the room then, not in the couch. Maybe then he could find his left sock.

Fuck it. He'd need to return to his flat for his game bag, either way.

His flat. Right. Needed to hurry.

Cold water splashed against his face.

James headed towards the kitchen. He retrieved his wand from under the floorboard and sighed. He placed the food over the worktop, casting it. Hopefully, the coffee would be done soon.

He went over to the red sofa, ripped and showing the yellow foam. He shook Sirius' shoulder several times. Sirius groaned.

"Hey, go to bed. You'll sleep better there."

"You've only woken up?"

"Yeah."

"And the match?"

"It's in a few hours. You can sleep until then. In a proper bed, come on."

"Fine, at least I'll have a pillow then," groaned Sirius. "Fucking Wormtail."

James smiled. The sheet was dragged behind Sirius through the hallway. The door closed.

He returned to the kitchen' worktop. He cast a conserving charm over the remaining coffee in the pot. Half a cup of milk later and several spoonfuls of sugar later, he sipped from the mug.

James winced.

He had no idea how Remus liked it so much. Sure, it gave lots of energy, but it tasted like mud. And he should know.

He sighed. A copy of the Daily Prophet by the door caught his attention.

The woods ahead of the door seemed unbroken from last night. The trees seemed younger than the ones they saw at Hogwarts, just younger. There were no neighbors nearby, either.

Maybe Remus had done well by buying this old house, even if it meant acquiring a mortgage at the age of eighteen. He'd done a good job in fixing it up in these past two years, actually.

He cast another charm over the food afterwards, when the eggs were done. He entertained himself by reading the Quidditch columns and reports as he ate.

The analysts predicted a tight win for the Magpies. Perfect. But they'd done an interview with the Harpies. He hadn't heard anything of anyone interviewing them for the Prophet. Bloody biased bastards.

He stabbed a potato with his fork.

Apparently, Milton hadn't been cleared to play. Her clavicle was still too weak, according to the healers. The reserve would be playing again. Evans. Had a nice stat, but only one full match. The fans loved her. She played quite well, even if she didn't hang about enough.

And she came off as rather sharp in the interview. Humble, yes, but too sharp.

He hadn't had the chance to watch her strategies yet. Couldn't be too different, being a Harpy. They all were the same.

He stabbed another potato.

Either way, it couldn't go badly for him. Reserves rarely did well when they jump mid-season. Evans jumped in the post-season. It was beginner's luck. The fans might love her, but it was all luck. She'd probably break with the pressure of the semifinals.

James looked at the clock on the wall. Three o'clock. He had one more hour until he needed to be in the stadium.

He found a stack of papers by the books. He found a pen, those hideous Muggle contraptions Remus was stubborn about using, and wrote on it. He stepped it with the coffee pot on the kitchen's worktop.

_Hey. I know, I didn't wake you lot up. Sorry. Last night was rough, and I think you all deserve some sleep. Especially you, Moony._

_Left you some hot breakfast, if I did the charms well this time. Eat it. If you wake up on time, I'll try to leave the tickets for the game on the table. In my flat, I should clarify. I'll try to remember. If not, which is perfectly understandable, you always have the wireless. I've got a feeling it's going to be a long match today._

_See you later._

_-Prongs_

He headed outside. Once in the woods, he disapparated.

Nothing new in the alley beside their building. The streets were crowded enough that no one would notice him exiting the alley. He rang the bell into his building, smiling at the doorman. The door unlocked.

"Morning, Carlton."

The doorman looked up from the paper. He didn't bother to remove his feet from the desk. Not for Potter. He furrowed his eyebrows, however.

"Afternoon, Potter."

James smiled.

"Right. Afternoon. Of course. Later, Carlton!"

He'd gone up to the second landing before he could hear a reply. Most possibly didn't get one. Carlton. What else could there be said?

Rude.

He didn't find anyone in his hall. Deserted. Alright. He'd remembered his keys, at least, thank Merlin. He didn't need their protection charms backfiring against him right now. Not again.

He'd left his bag ready by the door. Everything seemed well inside it. Everything seemed in place.

Time for a freezing pre-match shower, then.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He poked the now-light bruised by his ribs. Barely hurt. Peter had done a good job. Nevermind that. He'd just freeze it before the game, just in case.

Everything would turn out well, he told himself, getting inside the shower.

Everything would be alright. A new keeper wasn't enough to make them lose. They had an almost perfect stat this season and that couldn't be easily broken. They'd just play their best as the Magpies always did.

And if they lost, which wasn't as possible, they'd still finish on top.

Losing wouldn't be so bad. They wouldn't lose, however. It was not an option.

The freezing water felt like it could fix anything.

James turned off the water when everything seemed quiet in the shower room. No one talked when he got off the shower. The glares and arguments on whose fault it was, all which would be forgotten in the next day. It was always like that in the Magpie locker room after a tight loss.

He hoped to Merlin that no one would say a thing as he dressed.

He didn't need anyone to tell him that they could've won if he'd scored that last throw. If he'd scored, maybe Theron wouldn't have caught the snitch. They wouldn't have lost then.

Probably. Possibly. Maybe.

How in Circe's swine had that damned Evans known he was going to throw left? He always got those throws. Always.

Damn her.

He stuffed all his game robes in his bag. He returned his wand to his back pocket and looked around the locker room, hands on hips. His remaining teammates didn't look up as he crossed the bag's straps by his chest.

That was his thing. It always worked.

This little reserve keeper couldn't just jump out of nowhere and know he was going to throw to his fucking left. She couldn't.

He needed to find out how she'd known.

He looked through the bag's side pockets, but his permit wasn't in it. He sighed. His name would have to be enough, in case he encountered a guard on the way.

"See you lot on Monday," he said as he left the locker room.

He kept looking to his sides, but there weren't any guards nearby. Easy steps would do it, and he wouldn't get caught. They rarely ventured through the corridors near the visitor's locker rooms, but it was no trouble finding them. The sound helped him.

Eventually, the red-haired keeper stepped out. She kept her smile as she saw him, only giving him a raise of an eyebrow. He followed the come and go of her hair by the hall, walking beside her.

"Alright, so you look like a decent guy. So I'll cut the seams. What d'you want?"

"How d'you know I was going left?"

Her smile widened. "What makes you think I could've been fooled?"

"I always fool everyone."

She stopped and turned around. She raised her eyebrows.

He placed his hands on his pockets, trying to imitate her look as best as possible.

"Exactly," she said, nodding emphatically. "You fool everyone."

"I don't understand," he said.

"Everyone, Potter. Think about that," said Evans, nodding once again.

He smiled.

"Alright, really now. How d'you know?"

"I'm not gonna tell you."

"How come?"

"How come you expect me to answer that question?"

She smiled again. Damn that smile. It reached its goal of making him feel like an idiot.

"Um, yeah. That's why I'm asking, Evans." She scoffed something, before continuing her walk. "Didn't catch that, sorry."

"You're a sore loser, Potter!"

"Oi, nonononono. No." He rushed beside her.

She smiled. "No?"

"No," he said, stepping in front of her. "Mum's Welsh, you see. Big fan of the Harpies, also, so I grew up watching your team. And it was an amazing win your lot tonight, I'll admit that. I'm not a sore loser, I'd just like to know… How d'you know I was going to throw left?"

"I could tell, you know. Welsh, somehow. You've got a weird accent on you," she said, tilting her head. She caught his reaction. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Um, right. First time I've heard that. But continuing. The thing is, you're the first one to catch that throw. That's my thing. And if you already caught it…"

She smiled. "Well, there's a first time for everything, right?"

"Right. But I've got to do something to give you more of a challenge next time. Look at it that way. That's what I want to do."

Evans nodded. She stayed silent for a while. She shifted her feet, looking quickly to the ground and back to him. "Right, so, fuck it. I'm not going to bother with that 'will he, won't he' shit. I'm starving and you're most probably too, so want to have grab something and talk about this?"

He blinked. "Sure."

"Alright, so I'm going to leave my bag with one of my mates, then. 'Wasn't in much of a celebrating mood, either way," She readjusted the straps over her shoulders. "I'm not going to bail on you. I'll be back."

He raised his arms. "I hadn't said anything."

"Probably thinking it, then. Men always do. But you look like a bloke I can have a good conversation with, so… Why'd I miss that?" she shrugged. He ran his hand through his hair. "So, right. I'll meet you…"

"By the apparition spots? Wouldn't want…"

"The press. Yeah. Alright, I'll meet you there." He'd smiled and turned around when her voice reached him again. "Also, you know some good Muggle places around here?"

"Sure, town's full of them."

"Alright. Great. Alright." She smiled, taking a few steps back. "Wait, you're going to stay with your bag all night?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Nah, I'll carry it too, then," she said, speeding towards him. She smiled. "Let's go."

He tried to hide his smile as he walked alongside her. Maybe she wasn't so bad herself.

······

"Don't you like it, though? Stepping out into the Muggle world and having no one recognize you?" asked Evans.

"No, don't get me wrong, I love it. The currency change is such a hassle, though."

"Ah, yeah. I'd suggest we'd all reach a consensus on our currency, seeing as we all live in the same place, geographically speaking. But… Yeah."

"But some people wouldn't agree because the association with Muggles."

"Exactly."

He tilted his head, tapping the border of the plate with his fork.

"You didn't go to Hogwarts, didn't you?"

She blinked. "What?"

"I think I would remember you if we'd studied together. We're roughly the same age, no?"

Evans smiled. "A lady never shares her age."

"No, but I'm sure the Harpies were holding Keeper tryouts when I was graduating. And you're the youngest in the team, right?" She raised her eyebrows. "I read your interview."

She nodded, taking the glass to her lips. Purely for effect. Her smirk was clear against the rim of the glass.

Fuck. James hid his face against his hands.

"Oh, Merlin, that sounded wrong, didn't it?" Somehow, she laughed. "Don't laugh at me. Oh, Merlin, sorry about that."

"S'alright, we all look up our opponents on the weeks leading up to the match. I know I do. Alright, I've only done it twice. Because, you know, that was my second match," she shrugged.

"Oh, thank Merlin," he said, returning his hands to above the table. "My mates think it's weird that I do it. They only care about their strategies, but it's more than that, don't you think? You need to know how the other person would think. They didn't even bother for today."

"And that's what led you to that loss," she smiled.

"Alright, that's just cruel."

She laughed. It was quite a nice laugh. He tried not to smile.

"No, it was a tight match. I'll give you lot that," nodded Evans. "Almost worried me at the end. Fans must've been mental."

"Must still be." She nodded again. He looked at her, the way she focused a bit too much on getting all the rice grains over her fork. He took a deep breath. "Alright, just because you look like an open person-"

"Well," she smiled. "That's the first time I've heard that."

"I mean in the straying from tradition and thinking outside the box." She shrugged. "The thing about the Harpies is that you're all predictable."

"We are?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Quite," he nodded. "You do the same things over and over again. There's no... You know."

She nodded, "They're quite rigorous, up there. The coach tries, but management denies. You know how it is. Although Bertha doesn't even try as much as she did before, the others tell me."

"Yeah, they're rigorous in mine too," said James. "But they don't mind when we improvise, as long as we tell the team. They don't mind too much, I mean. At least I've never heard of it."

"Oh, no, ours gets ticked off if we do anything. Less if we tell the team, but still ticked off. We rather not risk it. Sometimes it's just a comment, the others have stories for the other times. I don't know."

He waved his hand. "The thing is, there comes a time when you know all your moves, only the timing of it is different. And it's alright, set plays are good and important. No one wants to be the Bangers, am I right?"

"Exactly."

"But you're all a bit too much. Strict, I mean. I'd get a new coach, just saying," he added. "But that's an outside voice."

She shrugged, drinking from her water. "We like her. She's a good one and look at us. We're going to the finals. So she must be doing something good with us."

"Eh, good point," said James. "But getting back to the original conversation. I just need to know who I'm going against, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Evans smiled, pointed her fork towards him. "Anyway, you don't look like the creeps. Trust me, I've met them. You also seem like a decent guy, actually.

He raised his eyebrows. "I could sell everything you tell me to the press."

"They would've seen us leave the field in that case."

"Right."

"Can't fool me."

"About that…"

"Nice try, Potter." He looked down to the plate, just briefly. She shrugged. "But, yeah... No, I didn't go to Hogwarts. There was, um, a family situation when I was young. Rather not talk about it. But basically, I couldn't go to a faraway boarding school."

"Where d'you study then?" he asked.

"Merlin's Academy in Manchester."

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. Guessed it made sense. She'd seemed comfortable enough through the Muggle streets, something uncommon.

Well, not necessarily.

"Ah," he said, pretending he'd just understood. "Those are the ones that don't believe in the housing system, right?"

"Right."

"Aren't those schools run by hippies, though? You seem alright. Mentally speaking," added James.

She scoffed, muttering through her smile. "Nowhere near alright."

"You make a good show of it, then."

"Unlike you."

"Rude."

She rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, no, they date from… What is it again? The eighteenth century? Whatever," she said, waving a hand. "And they're not hippies."

"A teammate, Galligan, went to the one in London," said James. "They seems pretty hippie from what he's told me."

Evans rolled her eyes. "They believe that the housing system in Hogwarts separates the students and creates competition instead of unity. And you've got to admit that's sort of true, from what I've seen."

"But it does creates unity," he said.

"Really?" He blinked. She smiled. "No, that's a genuine question. Hello, young woman who never went to Hogwarts?Nice to meet you."

"I mean, it does create unity in the houses."

"What about everyone else who's not in your house? You can learn something from everyone," said Lily. He shrugged. "Also, your curriculum is awfully outdated. That's the main reason of being of the academies, now that I think about it."

"S'alright. We learn what we have to learn," shrugged James. She stared at him. "Alright, I guess it's lacking in some areas. That's all, though."

She sighed. "Fine, agree to disagree, then?"

"Not much of a disagreement, though," he said. "More as a debate, in my opinion."

Lily smiled. "I like the way you think, Potter. Have I told you that?"

"Don't see how. Unless-"

The young man who'd been manning the till appeared next to them. He proceeded to clear their plates and to wipe their table. James couldn't do anything more but to stare at him. It wasn't long until he felt her hand over his, leading him out of the shabby café that'd been fully open an hour ago.

"That was so rude, I can't even-"

"It's late."

"Doesn't mean he can just throw us out-"

"Technically, he can. His shop, you know," she shrugged. "And we'd finished already."

"Doesn't mean-"

"Right, you were going to say something before that happened. What?"

"I don't even remember." She nodded, leading him through the empty streets. He sped towards her, even if it meant letting go of her small hand. "D'you even know where you're going?"

"Not a clue."

"C'mon."

He didn't stop walking through the midnight streets until she did. He turned around to see her watching many of those picture boxes Muggles were so dependent on having. Her fingers twirled the ends of her hair, knotting and unknotting them. He stepped beside her.

The headline was clear. _Fourteen dead in Bristol building._ Below it, _Suspected gas leak_.

He took a deep breath. He wouldn't rattle off to someone he'd met that day. He shouldn't. He didn't, and neither did she. She said nothing until another unrelated report had ended.

"I'd rather go home now, if that's alright. Is there somewhere nearby where I can Disapparate?"

He looked around. "Yeah, there should be some around. Come on."

James had never liked silence much. It was even worse when it was with someone he barely knew. After counting almost three hundred steps, he decided to break the silence.

"Why're you playing Quidditch, though? People from the Academies usually end up in well-rounded desk jobs."

She smiled, a small one at that. "I'm actually playing because I got frustrated one night while studying and I said something like 'Ugh, fuck this, I'm going to be a professional Quidditch player' and then I went 'Huh, I could honestly do that for a living.'" James laughed. She turned round "What? It's the truth!"

"No, that's exactly what I thought in seventh year too."

"Those NEWTs. Really."

"Fuck'em."

"Exactly."

Evans smiled. He took a deep breath as they crossed the street and entered through the corners of the park. She nodded as they saw the dead end of their trail.

He was about to say something, do anything, when she turned around. She smiled.

"I forgot. Right, so, you've got expressive eyes."

"I-" He blinked, placing his hands on his pockets."Thanks. I guess."

"You seem to do that move when the scores are close together or when the Seekers are flying it out. Both things were happening, so I thought you would try it on me. You looked to the left while supposedly aiming to the right. That's how," she said. She placed her hands in her pockets and shrugged. "Simple, right?"

He stared at her. "That was all?"

"Yeah."

"That was all?"

"Just said so, yeah."

"Huh." He nodded, running his hand through his hair. He stared at her, trying not to be infected by her smile. "So that's how."

"That's how."

"And how'd you know that?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

She shrugged. "Went and researched your team's tactics at our archive. I'll do that for whoever won yesterday too, so don't flatter yourself."

"The Harpies have an archive for the other team's tactics?" asked James.

Evans frowned. "Don't they all? Ask your coach or captain, I don't know."

James clapped his hands together and sighed. He nodded.

"Alright, so I reckon I'll see you next week."

Her smile widened, an eyebrow was raised. "Who said anything about next week?"

"Well, you're playing against Puddlemere, aren't you? And it's obvious they're going to keep you after a match like this one. I've got to learn your weakness now that you know mine," he shrugged. "So I'll see you next week."

He would not be infected. He wouldn't, damn it. He could be chill about this.

"What about me? Will I see you?" asked Evans.

"If you'd like." He shrugged, looking away from that smile. He blinked. "Wait, no, that makes it seem like I'll be watching you without you knowing that I'm there, which is quite creepy, frankly. Of course, if you'd like. Yeah? But I'm still going to the match. It's the Cup's final, come-"

She laughed, pushing his shoulder away. He smiled as she rolled her eyes.

"Alright, if I must sacrifice myself for that horrendous task..." She sighed.

"Oh, Merlin, what have I done?! What have I brought upon me?"

"Git."

"Rude."

He rolled his eyes, laughing. She turned around and walked to the end of the trail.

"Better watch closely, Potter! I'd like a more of a challenge against the Magpies, yeah?"

"Oh, don't worry, I will," he smiled. "G'night."

"Night."

And that final wave and crack shattered the illusion that maybe, just maybe, the world had some hope after all.

Nothing stopped him from realizing just how exhausted he was, just in that moment. He turned around in his spot and returned to the dark alley.

Their flat's door opened at his entrance. Once more when he sat over the worktop, a cup of tea in hand.

"Hey, you're still up," said Sirius. He unbuttoned his robe and threw it against the coat rack.

James raised his mug. "For now."

He nodded. "Heard half the match at Remus' and half at work. Sorry about the loss."

He shrugged. Half a smile crept into his lips. "S'alright."

Sirius stared at him. He raised his eyebrow.

"Alright, tell me your middle name."

"How come?"

"The real James wouldn't just shrug it off. Not with that wide smile, not after that match."

"I could."

"Are you high?"

"They'd kick me out of the team! Of course not."

"Come on, middle name."

He smiled. "You don't know my middle name."

"I do."

"I've never told you it."

Sirius smiled, leaning against the worktop.

"Ah, but your mother did. One of the last things she told me," he said. James raised his eyebrows, setting his mug down. "Told me to never let you forget it and to use it for optimal humiliation in moments of need."

"That does sound like mum, actually," sighed James. "But, no. Real James? Yes. Am I going to tell you my middle name? No."

He picked his mug up. He focused on drinking it. But Sirius was still beside him, leaning against the worktop.

"Met someone." He smiled, leaning his head against the cabinet. "That's all."

"Oh? And this person just- Must be something."

"She's, well, it's too early to actually tell. But she's great," smiled James. "Fantastic."

"Thought it was too early to tell?" chuckled Sirius.

"It is."

He rolled his eyes. "Enough to make you forget about the loss?"

"Not forgotten, I just- The loss made it possible." James shrugged. "I don't know, mate."

Sirius sighed, pushing himself off. He took a mug from the cupboards and served himself from the teapot. He tapped it with his wand, brought it to his lips. He leaned against the other worktop.

"She a fan?"

"Quidditch? Yes. Magpies? Not particularly."

"Interesting." He tapped his fingers against the mug. "Press?"

James coughed, setting the barely empty mug over the worktop.

"Fuck, no."

"Just asking. No judgement, you know," shrugged Sirius. He tilted his head. "That'd be quite an interesting match, though."

He chuckled. "Be my guest, then."

"Is that a-"

"No. Circe, no. That was not even close at a challenge, Black," said James, his arms raised. "Don't even think of doing that to yourself. You'd be with someone who makes a living out of invading people's privacy and making their living days horrible."

Sirius sighed. "Yeah, I guess it'd just be better to return to my family, in that case."

James nodded.

They both paid attention to the mugs between them. James took his time with the few drops remaining.

"Anyway, what and who she is isn't what's important," said James. "Or that she was rather awkward at the end, now that I think of it, after she saw some... What are those square things that Muggles watch called again?"

Sirius shrugged. "It's been years since Muggle Studies."

"But you don't remember? Don't their lives revolve-" Sirius shrugged again and he sighed. "Nevermind all that. That's not so important. Just that she's great and funny and she knows a lot about a lot and she makes an amazing conversation and I'm going to see her next week again and I think I need a time turner."

"Alright, you just met her, Prongs."

"I know but I-"

"Just met her."

James sighed, jumped off the worktop. He set the mug on the sink.

"Alright, so I'm off. Exhausted," he said.

Sirius nodded.

Because, yes, they'd just met. And she was quite vague with those answers you'd wish were specific. But she was...

He sighed against his pillow. This week was going to be a hell of a waiting game.


End file.
